


Beautiful Disaster

by ShianneUrami



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, Character Death, Disfigurement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:03:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShianneUrami/pseuds/ShianneUrami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your arms shake with the pain of slicing up sensitive nerves and somewhere else in your mind you’re screaming at yourself to be careful. Of course you don’t listen to yourself because when are you ever right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Disaster

You don’t realize it at the time but the first time it happens, it’s not something you bother thinking about. You already have scabs and scrapes from a blackrom romp. It makes you hiss when you scratch it off, but it never registers, as you had been itching at scabs like an idiot anyway.

The second one you find when you’re letting the scorching water beat on the back of your neck in the trap, trying to chase away a migraine. It’s small, a hard smooth bump when you run your fingers over it at the base of your skull, right on the edge of your hairline. Eyebrows knit and you pick, hooking claws around it and pull. It brings a prickle of tears to the edge of your eyes, but it breaks off with a small crack, either from whatever it is or your own flesh tearing. You can feel the blood bubbling and when you run fingers over it and yeah, you’re bleeding. You hold it in your hand and it’s not much bigger than the claw on you little finger. It’s bright gold and gleams when you turn it over. Confusion washes over you but you tilt your hand and let it fall down the drain, it’s probably nothing.

You’re sitting at your desk the time after that, rubbing a crick out of your neck where it’s stiff from hunching over your work for countless hours. When you knead at the flesh where your neck and shoulder meet, you can feel it under your hand, under the skin. It’s not normal and you don’t have any idea what it is, so you pick at it. (Not the best course of action really.) After a few minutes of staring at your blank screen and rubbing your neck and this hard lump, your claws bite through skin. You wince in pain, but keep going. Not like this isn’t pain you’ve felt before.

The blood is tacky and drying on your fingers when your claws hit something hard, like bone and you panic. What the hell are you even doing to yourself? You pull at it against better judgement and the same as the first two it comes free with a crack and a tearing of meat that make you gasp and put a death grip on the edge of your desk. It’s dripping blood when you look it over, but it’s that same bright gold, faceted and shiny. It’s got to be some kind of rock or gem or something. But that’s impossible, it was under your skin. The more you look at it the more you feel the clench of nausea rising. You dump it on the desk and backpedal, shaking your head, you need to get some sleep.

You’re not sure how long you manage to sleep for before the overwhelming sensation of your skin trying to crawl off your body is irritating enough to wake you. Still drowsy and disoriented you scratch at your back and you just want to pull your skin off. Inhibited by the sopor you’re suspended in fogging your think pan up, a heavy layer of haze you just do what your body wants and itch at it. Your arms shake with the pain of slicing up sensitive nerves and somewhere else in your mind you’re screaming at yourself to be careful. Of course you don’t listen to yourself because when are you ever right? They are only under a few layers of skin but there’s two of them and they’re about the size of your thumb, little ovals, hard and smooth.

You pull on one of them and the pain shoots through your spine and lights up your brain and you pull yourself above the surface of the slime. Your chest heaves with a shaky gasp and you stop. You stop and the horrors of what’s going on creep into the darkness, the still sluggish parts of your mind still susceptible to your own fear. What is going on? What are these things? Why are they bigger and-

You take a few deep breaths before you pull at the first one again, pulling it half out of your flesh and you can feel the involuntary psionics skirt over your hand. Your psionics, they’re centered in your spinal column, so your back has always been more sensitive to pain and pleasure than the rest of you, so close to the energy. And right now it’s not pleasure, it’s just pain that sets your jaw and makes your eyelids flutter and eyes prickle with tears as you grind your teeth with little hisses. You wrap your fingers around it and yank and choke around a sob. 

It’s heavy in the palm of your hand and you stare at it. It’s nearly two inches all around. Something like fear, horror, uncertainty coils in your gut and you want to cry. Maybe you already are. Looking at this, this isn’t normal! This isn’t fucking real! You swallow hard and climb out of the coon with shaking limbs to sit on the floor next to it. You don’t know what to do, or what’s going on, but you really don’t like it. 

You’re scared.

You don’t sleep.

You want to, really badly. You’re tired. But you can feel it, and it keeps you awake. You can feel whatever this is GROWING and it just makes you wring your hands with worry and swallow back the roiling nausea and fear. It’s little patches, little spots of fire and pain. It was your back at first, but it’s gotten worse. You clawed one off your bicep earlier and you can feel one on the inside of your knee. They get bigger the more you rip from your skin and it worries you.

Is this going to kill you? Should you tell someone? Is this all a bad daymare?

You know it’s not, but you wish it was. You really wish you could tell someone too, but more than once your fingers have hovered over the keys, in some attempt to contact someone. Anyone. Aradia, or Feferi. Maybe Kakat wouldn’t chastise you for it. Kanaya was good with medical things, right? But in the end, you can’t bring yourself to do it. You’re too afraid of being told you’re going to die. Or to have them run in fear of what your body is doing. And maybe it’s not even your piece of shit body revolting against you. Maybe it was some outside force infecting you with glittering jewels and seering pain.

You claw at your thigh and the blood drips down your hand and you stare at it with watering eyes. You can feel them shift when they grow and overlap. You can feel the way they’re pushing on your spine and it’s already been some time since your psionics became painful to try to use. It was then that you knew this was going to kill you. 

You don’t want to accept it, but when you can look over your own ashen skin and watch them grow, slow and steady you aren’t really left with a choice, are you? The longer this goes on and the more you slip and and out of panic, the faster it progresses.

There is one on your back that you can set your palm on and your fingers don’t overlap it’s edges. They run the length of your spine and you haven’t stopped shaking. You can feel points of pain in your ribs, between the bones. Your brain is a static haze of debilitating fear and screeches of regrets. The floor is cool under your feverish skin and your hands shake hard enough it makes your shoulders hurt. The tears flow freely when you feel them pushing your ribs apart. It’s slow and agonizing and you scream. You scream and scream and SCREAM. No one comes. No one who can hear you cares.

When the first rib breaks, you pass out.

It is pure instinct that wakes you again, your brain ripping you from unconsciousness in it’s attempt to get you to battle whatever plagues you before it kills you. But you can’t. You are helpless. Breathing hurts, and you’re almost thankful that you can feel the gems pressing against your windpipe, making each ragged, tear filled inhale less so as the time passes. You feel light, airy. Everything hurts and it’s hard to pull apart where one pain stops and another begins. 

Your eyes glaze over when you feel them pressing against the base of your skull. You are most certain you are more glittering brilliance than yourself at this point. You crackle at the edges, your psionics not in your control, your body vibrates with pain and energy and your breathing, strangled and raspy echoes in your head. You can hear yourself dying.

You take a moment, a single moment in the chaos of lost life and apologize. You aren’t sure what you did to deserve this, but it was probably just. You’re just sorry you didn’t get to tell them. Tell them what? You’re not even sure what you’d tell them if you could. Most likely something stupidly sentimental that they’d laugh off but would sting forever. Yeah, that’s how you would have done it.

It brings a smile to your lips, the blood dripping from them. You don’t know when that started happening. The feel of them pressing against you, inside and out is surreal and you’re surrounded and suffocating. They press on your lungs and your throat, your eyes are hazy and your hands are heavy. The feel of your blood pusher hitting one of them sets it off rhythm and you don’t have the time to feel that pain on top of the others.

It builds and builds and builds to a streaking white hot light burning you up, then there is a sharp pop, deafening and harsh. A soft crackle follows. The pain ebbs away, you don’t feel your airsacs expand when you will them to and you can feel your heart stop.

At least you can’t hear the echo of your regrets anymore.

Your world fades to black.

**Author's Note:**

> Amberite had reblogged this lovely thing: http://tatterdemalionamberite.tumblr.com/post/60258703918/viivus-eh-hghghghhhhh-help-i-think-im-in and I couldn't help the need to write, so this was inspired by that!


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